Turncloak
by Topropeflyer
Summary: The Assassins in Moscow thought they had avoided the turmoil the other groups were going through. Danger quickly catches up with the Russians however, forcing Demetri Volkov to hunt down the source, with novice Alexi. Trying to separate honesty from lies, the pair are forced to salvage what they can of the Moscow branch, praying they can patch the problem before it spreads.


**A/N: Hello there. Clearly, if you clicked on this story, it interests you in some way. Thank you for that. All I really have to say about this story is that it's inspired by the lore of the Modern Assassins, something that we don't see very often. I hope you enjoy this story... I'm very excited. **

Chapter One:

The den was mere meters away at this point. Demetri could see the slight opening in the chain link fence that surrounded the abandoned hospital, which housed the Assassins of the Moscow branch. The Russian flexed his cold fingers, imagining the warmth that the den could provide. It was the end of October, nearing November in Moscow. The temperatures were beginning to drop. Demetri regarded his black leather jacket and shirt. It was all he had in the way of clothes, and frankly, it was all he needed. Even with the Russian winters, Demetri sported the same black leather he always did.

The Assassin's mission had gone well, and he was pleased with the news he could share with the branch leader, Victor Konev. The experienced killer had the task of scouting the surrounding area, chasing out a persistent runner for the Templars. The Moscow branch had attracted a great deal of interest from the opposing side as of late, an easily understood fact considering that the Russian Assassins were one of the only active groups left. Their pursuits and goals were still running strong, which was all thanks to the careful, if not paranoid, planning of Victor Konev.

Demetri quickened his pace to meet the fence, glancing over his shoulder for watchful eyes. Of course, there wasn't a breathing soul. This part of Moscow had been forgotten about. It was filled with rundown apartment blocks, empty factories and the hospital the Assassins had claimed for themselves. The hospital lay on the border of the capital city, where the people were fewer. He widened the hole in the fence and squirmed his way through. He dragged over a potted bush to conceal the almost invisible opening. It was an ingenious idea created by Brody, one of the younger Assassins. At first nobody thought it would work, but as time went on with no break-ins from the homeless or Templar eyes, the rest of the Assassins began to accept the simple bush as a decent illusion. A few short minutes later, he was navigating the rotting halls to the inner section that had been renovated to suit the Assassins' needs. It wasn't much longer until the walls became whiter and cleaner, and voices could be heard despite the doors being closed. Demetri fought the urge to roll his eyes. He opened the heavy door and waltzed through, spotting Petrov and Brody on the other side of the large room, shouting at one another. Demetri knew it would be a petty argument as normal and paid no mind to them. He had one concern at the moment, and that was finding Victor. He headed to the left, then down the hall. He passed the store rooms and the weapon's room. The door was ajar, and he could hear someone fiddling with the tools inside. He had a vague idea of who it was, but once again, paid no mind. He walked until he reached the end of the hall, where Victor stayed far away from the other Assassins in the Eastern wing.

He knocked on the metal door solidly, waiting for the gruff voice behind it to bid him entry. When it came, he allowed himself inside. Victor Konev was sitting behind a wooden desk, bent over a book he was writing in. He hardly looked up at Demetri's presence.

"So, what is it you have to tell me, dear friend?" His pen scratched and scribbled on the discolored paper of Victor's personal journal, normally bound in leather and hidden. Demetri glanced about the office, noting nothing out of order. Victor's personal space, much like the rest of the cold and dingy den, was garnished with rusted hospital furniture or things the Assassins brought in from the outside. The only thing of interest was the painting of running horses hanging behind Victor. The story the branch leader had spun about the painting was that it was given to him as a reward from the mentor, from his own personal collection. If memory served, it was for Victor's heroic and brave actions during the Cold War. The younger Assassins believed Victor. Why wouldn't they? Victor was an honest and just leader, in his own cold way. Of course, Demetri knew the real story behind the painting. Since Victor was only sixteen during the last few years of the Cold War, and had only just joined the Brotherhood, there was only one possible explanation for the painting.

"It's a beautiful piece." Victor said, shaking Demetri from his reminiscing. The Assassin had no love for horses, or any animals for that matter. Just as he had no love for civilians or by standers.

"I've seen better paintings." Demetri replied in an even tone, matching Victor's. "I was just remembering how you got it."

Victor's mouth twitched mischievously before settling back into the level expression the branch leader normally wore.

"Stolen from the home of a Templar, if my memory serves." Demetri crossed the room and picked up a wooden chair, placing it in front of Victor's desk before taking a seat.

Victor shrugged, not fazed by the truth. "He had no use for it."

Demetri almost chuckled. "That is true."

Spinning back around in his chair, Victor placed his hands on the desk. He was intrigued with what Demetri had to report. He knew he would not be disappointed, considering Demetri was only a hair's width away from Victor's own rank.

"I assume our unwanted visitor has fled?"

Demetri nodded once. "I tried to kill him, to put an end to whatever he has gathered, but he was too quick. He saw me coming before I ever saw him."

"Did you catch up to him?"

"Easily. His choice of transportation was a little conspicuous for the area."

Victor clicked his tongue and shook his head. "They never learn."

"I can go back out to find him. I doubt he'll go very far. He'll want to see what else he can learn." Demetri offered.

Victor sighed, pulling his fingers through his military-cropped hair. Demetri could imagine him ripping out his dark hair if it was any longer.

"What's the matter?" The Assassin asked, wary of Victor's behavior. He had known the man for as long as he could remember, and had a good bond with him, especially since the man had picked him up some years back to begin his training as an Assassin. With the knowledge he had over the branch leader, Demetri figured there was something awry.

"We are not a stable branch anymore, Demetri." Victor confided in his best and eldest student. "I fear we may have to go Dark like Sao Paulo."  
Demetri scowled, a frightfully merciless stare. "What makes you question us?"

The branch leader leaned forward on his desk, lowering his voice to a near whisper.

"We have a mole."

'Mole' was a term almost every Assassin knew, and if they was smart, feared. Moles were essentially Templar agents undercover, whether as an Assassin or ally, sent to discover and deliver information to their commanders. Moles were known to destroy branches from the inside out, leaving nothing but death in their wake.

"Are you sure?" Was all Demetri could manage, trying to process his own thoughts.

"Yes. I am positive."

"Do you know who it is?" The Russian pictured his brother's faces in his mind eye, and couldn't bear the idea of being betrayed by any of them. He may not love his brothers, and most days he could hardly say he liked them, but he still respected their dedication. Victor had spawned a fair number of loyal Assassins. Demetri had seem them kill and be killed, and saw the new batch come through and do as the old ones did. Each had proven to be just as devote as the last.

"Yes. I have an idea, and I can provide evidence." Victor said, sounding just as hollow as Demetri felt.

Making a hand motion, Demetri waited for Victor's suspicion. "Slavik."

"Slavik?" Demetri parroted, shocked. Slavik was nearly twenty-eight, and a fairly decent man. He could wield a blade better than any of the six Russian Assassins, surpassed only by the rightful leader of the branch. He had befriended most of the Assassins he worked with, making him a well-loved character amongst the Moscow group.

"Have you told anybody yet?" Demetri asked, trying to picture Slavik's betrayal. "What did he do? Did he kill one of our own?"

Jumping from one conclusion to the next, Victor set the man straight with a few words. "The Shards of Eden."

It clicked with Demetri. "Didn't you send Slavik to the East to investigate new readings?"

Victor nodded. "I did. However, as you remember, he was very eager to go. He nearly fought with Brody after he took the rights to the mission. A few days later, Brody falls and breaks his hand, leaving Slavik the next in line. Convenient, wouldn't you say?"

"We already have a Shard of Eden. Why wouldn't he steal the one we already have?"

Victor touched the drawer he kept the artifact in. He changed the hiding place every day, telling only the eldest Assassins, Demetri and Mikhail, of the location.

"One would think. But wouldn't it also be easy to find this new Shard?"

Demetri visualized the situation, and eventually agreed. All Slavik had to do was take the Shard and leave Russia, going back to whichever Templar he answered to. If there was no Shard, he could return to the den and retain his innocence.

"Why tell me this?" Demetri questioned, frowning deeply at the disturbing news.

"I want you to find Slavik."

"And do what?" The Assassin already had an idea, and did not like it.

"Execute him for betraying the Brotherhood." Victor forced the words out of his teeth, liking it no more than his trusted friend.

"There is not enough evidence for that." Demetri argued, his voice turning into a growl. Victor's eyes narrowed drastically, shifting his demeanor from respect into dominance. Without a word he felt for a chain under his shirt, bringing it out for Demetri to see.

"Your key." He was bewildered to see Victor's beloved chain to be missing the key. Victor Konev never parted with it. He slept with it, showered with it. For as long as Demetri had known the man, the key had always been there with him. It had become a part of the branch leader. Nobody knew what the key did. Some argued that it unlocked a door in the basement holding a weapon that Victor kept to himself. Others said that it was a First Civilization artifact. Demetri believed neither.

"He stole it from me." Victor said, somehow managing to keep the anger in his voice untraceable.

Demetri shook his head several times in disbelief. "He wouldn't dare. Everyone knows not to touch the key."  
"It went missing a few days ago, replaced with a cheap copy." Victor dug the reproduction out of his jeans pocket and handed it to Demetri, who took it gingerly in his hands. He studied it. It was a simple key, an old key. The original had been bent, dented and damaged. It was made of tarnished gold and was as useless as it was a mystery. This key was made of gold, worn down by what seemed like sandpaper, and bent in strange patterns.

"Of course, I looked for it when it went missing, but I couldn't look for the key for long without looking suspicious. I needed the thief to think I wasn't any wiser. So, I recruited one of the novices to look for it."  
"Who?" Demetri asked, pursing his lips.

"I won't say his name. But, he found it."

"Where?" Demetri asked, handing back the copy key to Victor.

The branch leader leaned back, prompting his follower to hazard a guess.

"Slavik had it on his person?"  
"No. Taped to a picture of that girl he has been ranting about for these past few weeks. In the drawer beside his bed." Victor reached into the same pocket he had brought out the reproduction and showed Demetri the original. Now he could see how awful the job had been.

"That does not mean he has done it."

"Do you need more evidence?"

"I refuse to kill my own brother without it."

"Some of our brothers have reported suspicious activity. He leaves the den in the middle in irregular time patterns, heading deeper into the city."

Demetri couldn't help but roll his eyes. "We all know it's that girl of his."

"Is it?" Victor unlocked the drawer that he held the Shard in, taking out a magazine. He slapped it on the desk in front of Demetri.

"Page twelve."

Doing as he was told, Demetri flipped through the magazine until he came across what Victor had wanted him to see. On page twelve was the picture Slavik kept on his bedside, taped to an identical image found in the magazine.

"He just wanted to brag." Demetri tried to rationalize.

Victor snorted. "Or he wanted a story to explain his absences. No man would bother another if all he was doing was visiting his woman."

The evidence, though no yet concrete, was starting to stack up against Slavik.

"I want you to find him, Demetri."

"I will go, but I will not kill. I will detain him and bring him back here for a proper trial. We are not dictators here. If we executed him without defense, we would be no better than the Templars."

"He is a Templar, why bother?" Victor spat.

Demetri scowled. "Are you still bitter about a damn key?"

Taken aback, Victor paused before his features hardened.

"You're not going alone." He continued with the last shred of professionalism he had.

Confused, Demetri's brow arched. "Who is coming with me?"  
"The two-year Novice, Alexi."

Demetri could feel the frown he sported deepen. Alexi was a twenty-four year old boy that Victor had somehow deemed suitable for the Assassins. Although he did his job, and some would argue he did his job well, he still laughed and joked and decided to float through life rather than facing the reality of the world. Demetri didn't hate the boy, he barely knew him, but he wouldn't be a first choice of companion.

"Are you sure Alexi and I can work together?"

"Maybe you can or maybe you can't." Victor said. "However, Alexi needs some further field training and you need to lighten up!"

"But he's a child!"  
"And you are beginning to act like one." Victor snapped, shutting down Demetri's rebellion against the idea.

"When do we leave?" The now frustrated Assassin asked.

"Tomorrow evening. I will only tell the others after your departure."

With a silent sigh, Demetri stood up in defeat. "Do I have your permission to leave?"

Victor gestured to the door, allowing Demetri to escape into the hall, contemplating his heavy task.

He marched back down the hall, pausing in front of the weapons room. The door still hung slightly open. Arguing with himself, he eventually decided to enter the room. He was not at all surprised to see Alexi sitting in the corner, cleaning his guns and ensuring they were looked after. The young Russian was known for his expert knowledge on firearms. Demetri hadn't seen a better sniper, which had earned his respect. All he knew about Alexi's firearm history was that his father was ex-military, explaining his remarkable talent to some degree.

"Demetri." The novice greeted light-heartedly. Demetri tried to keep his scowl fixed, but found it wavering. Alexi was one of life's likable souls, even to life's hardened kind.

"We need to talk."

Alexi waved him over, removing his rifle from the table. Demetri stood before him, placing his hands on the top of the workspace.

"We're heading out tomorrow evening. Don't ask me where, I'm not going to tell you just yet. Don't ask me what we're going to do either."

He looked hard into Alexi's brown eyes, making sure there was a sense of understanding there. What he found was curiosity, dampened with questions.

"Pack light and with minimal weapons. I don't plan on using them." The blonde chewed over the request, a question bubbling up on his tongue.

"Why are you taking me with you? You always work alone."

"As an Assassin should." Demetri said, if not with a bit of bitterness still lingering around. "However, Victor things some quality time will do us some good."

He ruffled Alexi's wavy blonde hair to further continue the den wide mocking of Alexi's childlike easy going attitude. The younger man shook away Demetri's hand and rolled his eyes, going back to his guns.

Demetri continued onwards through the den, heading back through the main room then down the right hallway, where the Assassins slept. His room was at the very end of the hallway, mirroring Victor's own personal quarters in the left wing. He entered his own sanctuary and quickly closed the door, not wanting to be bothered by his brothers and their questions on the success of his mission. He stripped himself of his jacket and threw it over the solitary chair he owned. He wandered around the former hospital room, tugging at his curly black hair. The stress was eating at him, and he hadn't even begun to prepare for the task. The idea of killing one of his own was something he had never wanted to face, and he always did his best to inspire loyalty in the Assassins he called brothers. It seemed, although, that his work went unnoticed.

He headed to the cracked mirror that hung on the wall, contemplating his reflection. He seemed paler than usual, whether that was from fatigue or tension, he couldn't decide. Demetri left the mirror. His reflection wasn't helping him rationalize Victor's orders.

Suddenly, his door swung open. Turning, Demetri came face to face with Victor yet again.

"I know what I ask is tough for you." Victor said, without a hint of compassion. "Except, you seem to forget that you are the only one who can complete the act. Nobody else will be able to do it."

"And yet you send me with Alexi?"  
"He's a good kid with a good heart."

There was a moment's pause.

"You will do it, Demetri." Victor stood from the bed, his demeanor ice cold. "Do notdisappoint me."

The Russian Assassin watched the branch leader closely as he left. He had heard those words before. They were as good as a threat.


End file.
